


pull up (pull up) from one extreme to another

by hedakombikru



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedakombikru/pseuds/hedakombikru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 1 finale AU. Plans change when the group returns to the garage to find Chris unconscious and Alicia missing.</p><p>or</p><p>In which everyone finally realizes that leaving the weaponless kids alone in a zombie apocalypse is probably a bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I already have two in-progress fics, someone please stop me. But not really. So, I needed more Alicia than what we got onscreen. I really enjoyed the finale, but I thought this might be an interesting alternative and is actually somewhat like what I was expecting before Chris and Alicia emerged from that closet or stairway or whatever it was still present and relatively unscathed. Anyway, here you go.
> 
> Title from 'Into the Fire' by Thirteen Senses

They’re backed against the hood of the car, breathing heavily as the soldiers surround them, and not for the first time, Alicia finds herself wishing her mom and the others hadn’t just left them alone down here, without so much as a pocketknife to protect themselves. If infected swarmed the garage, they were supposed to get out of there. She was supposed to drive them to safety. But Travis hadn’t told them what to do if they were cornered by three soldiers with guns.

Alicia is starting to think a horde of reanimated dead people would be preferable right now.

The soldier in the middle, whose name patch identifies him as Johnson, shifts the rifle in his hands and gives them a hard look. “Why didn’t you guys just open the damn door, huh?”

Alicia presses herself harder against the front of the SUV.

“What do you guys want?” Chris asks warily.

“Transport,” the soldier on their right, Jones, answers. “Son, just give us the keys.”

Alicia sees Chris shake his head. “No.”

Johnson releases a mocking laugh. “Come on, man. We’ll take you with us.”

“We’re not going anywhere.”

“Suit yourself,” Jones scoffs. He turns to Alicia with a smarmy smirk. “What about you, girl?”

Chris jumps between Alicia and the soldier before she can respond. “Leave her alone! Leave her-” She stumbles back, startled, as the third soldier jumps forward and grabs at Chris, yanking him away from Jones. Chris attempts to fight back until he’s slammed against the hood of the car. A pained breath wheezes out of his chest.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Alicia shouts angrily, stepping forward. “ _I_ have the keys!”

The soldiers stop, staring at her as she pulls the keys from her pocket. Johnson snatches them from her as soon as they’re within his reach.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Jones leers, stretching a hand out towards Alicia’s hair. She jumps back, knocking the hand away as Chris leaps between them again, shoving at the soldier with both hands.

“Hey! Don’t touch her, man!”

The third soldier reaches out again and grabs Chris’s left arm, yanking him backward. Chris uses the momentum to swing his right arm around and punch the man in the jaw. “Get off me!”

The soldier only hits back, catching Chris with a hard fist against his cheek, and Alicia watches him go down, hitting the ground with a thud that echoes off the concrete walls of the garage. Her breaths come out in short, terrified gasps as three pairs of boots step into view on the other side of Chris’s crumpled body. Slowly, Alicia lifts her gaze.

She tries not to shiver when Jones eyes her with another smirk. “You sure you don’t want to come with us?”

* * *

The door to the parking garage squeals when Travis pulls it open. He calls out for the kids as he leads the rest of the group inside. “Chris? Alicia?”

Madison steps past him, frowning. “Where’s the car?”

“Did they leave?” Ofelia asks.

Remembering his instructions to Chris before they left, Travis feels his stomach drop. “Oh, no.” He glances around as he steps away from the cars parked near the door, and calls out for Chris again just as Madison shouts Alicia’s name.

“Shh! Lower your voice!” Daniel barks quietly. “The dead will hear you.”

But Travis isn’t listening, because the moment they shuffle around the line of cars he sees his son sprawled on the concrete and his stomach seems to drop all the way to his shoes. “Chris!” He rushes forward, and hears Liza and Madison right behind him. The three of them drop to their knees in a half circle as Chris begins to groan and shift into consciousness.

“Oh God, Chris!” Liza cries, reaching out to brush his hair away from his face. She runs gentle fingers over his bloody cheek as Chris blinks his eyes open.

“Mom?”

“What happened?” Travis asks, and helps Chris sit up when Liza nods that it’s okay.

Chris blinks slowly, prodding gingerly at the cut on his cheek. His fingers come away coated in blood and he stares blankly at it for a second before he speaks. “There were soldiers. They took the SUV. I’m sorry.”

Madison leans forward, anxious. “Chris, where’s Alicia?”

Chris glances around, blinking owlishly, still dazed from the blow to the head. “I don’t know. One of the men, he- he tried to touch her. I pushed him away, and then another one knocked me out. I-” He’s starting to get frantic as he looks around the garage. He tries to stand, but Travis rests a hand on either of his shoulders to keep him down. “I don’t know what happened after that. They- they must have taken her. I don’t know. I- I-”

Liza shushes him, stroking her hand over his unmarred cheek. “Calm down, Chris.”

Madison moans. “Oh God. No.” She pushes herself to her feet and turns in a full circle, yelling out for her daughter again. “Alicia!”

“Hey! Quiet,” Daniel hisses.

Madison rounds on him, stalking closer. “She’s my _daughter_ ,” she spits out.

“Yes, but she is clearly not around to hear you yelling,” Daniel retorts. “The dead _are_. And we will be dead too if you keep making so much noise. Then who will help your child?”

Madison opens her mouth to reply, angry words already dancing on the tip of her tongue, but she stops when she sees the soldier they’d held captive shuffle out from behind one of the cars. Her widened eyes prompt Daniel to turn around, and Andy cocks the gun as soon as he spots him.

Surprised, Ofelia stands up from her slumped position against a support beam, eyeing the soldier nervously. “Andy?” She notices Travis edging closer as she talks, and hopes he isn’t about to make the situation worse. If possible. “Andy? Hey.”

“Ofelia,” her father warns, holding a hand out to stop her.

Ofelia ignores him. “Andrew. Put the gun down. You don’t have to do this, okay?” she tries. “What are you doing? Just put the gun down.”

Andy eyes her for a moment, gun still trained on Daniel.

“Andrew, don’t do this. Please. Please,” she pleads. She watches his considering gaze turn fully to her, and feels hopeful that she’s gotten through to him. “Andy.”

But Daniel can see his intent, and dread crashes through him like a tidal wave, spreading to every extremity faster than he can process. He cries out, but it’s already too late. In the blink of an eye, Andy swings the gun toward Ofelia and pulls the trigger. The sound is near deafening in the small garage, causing a ringing in his ears that pairs perfectly with the emotion flooding through him as he watches Ofelia jolt backward, falling to the ground before he can catch her. Daniel falls to his knees beside her.

The minutes that follow pass by in a blur. Liza rushes over to Ofelia as Travis yells out and lunges at Andy, tackling him to the ground. Andy’s gun slides from his grip and clatters beneath a car just before Travis hits him. And hits him.

Travis is relentless. He doesn’t hear Liza’s assurance that it’s only a through and through to the shoulder, that Ofelia will be fine; doesn’t hear the gasps from Madison and Chris behind him or Strand’s dry commentary to Nick. He only hears the rage boiling over in his head, every emotion from the past several days spilling out in the form of fuel for his pounding fists.

After a minute, Madison steps up behind him, calling for him to stop. “Trav. Travis! Leave him.” Travis keeps punching, and she drops a hand on his shoulder. “Travis, leave him!” she repeats. “Stop! Please. We have to find Alicia.”

That finally stops him. Travis wheezes out a breath and moves to stand, leaving Andy choking on the floor, and brings his shaking, bloody hands up to stare at them blankly.

“It’s okay,” Madison murmurs. “Come on.”

They leave Andy on the ground on the verge of unconsciousness and walk slowly back to where Chris, Nick, and Strand are standing by the truck. Travis braces his hands on the hood and leans against it as Madison approaches Nick.

“Where’s Alicia?” Nick asks. “We have to find her.”

“We will,” Madison says, squeezing his arm.

“How?”

Madison turns to Chris. “Did those soldiers say anything about where they were going?” she asks hopefully.

Chris shakes his head, face pinched in apology. “No. I don’t think so. I’m sorry.”

“We need to get out of here,” Strand declares then, watching Madison anxiously scrub her hands through her hair. “No use standing around this place while they get further and further away, is there?” He’d been hoping to get back to his house as soon as possible, to pack a bag and hop on Abigail and sail away from this madness, but these people are his only source of transportation at the moment and he knows it would be pointless to suggest they forget about finding the girl and focus keeping those who _are_ here safe. They would surely never go for that. Regardless, moving as quickly as possible is the only option at this point, and he’s pleased when he hears some of the others agree with him.

“He’s right,” Daniel says, still leaning over Ofelia, trying to soothe her as Liza does what she can for her shoulder. “Soon this place will be overrun by infected. I need to get my daughter somewhere safe.” His eyes flick over to Andy’s still form ten feet away.

“And _I_ need to _find_ my daughter,” Madison reminds harshly.

“We don’t even know where these soldiers have gone,” says Strand, attempting to be the voice of reason. “It will be a wild goose chase in this city. And a dangerous one at that.”

Madison shakes her head, hands clenched in tight, white-knuckled fists. She _will not_ lose her daughter when she just got back her son. No amount of danger or uncertainty will make her hesitate. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out.”

Travis, finally seeming to have gotten a hold of himself, straightens determinedly at the conviction in her voice, pulling the truck keys from his pocket as he nods. “Then let’s go.”

* * *

Alicia wakes up in the backseat of the SUV, slumped against the door on the right hand side, her head pounding with the worst headache she has ever experienced. The last thing she remembers is Jones suggesting she go with them, that she’d be safer that way, and then the butt of a rifle sailing towards her face as she had called for help, trying to get away. Which explains the throbbing pain radiating from her left temple.

She keeps her eyes closed, partly to keep the light she can see glowing through her eyelids from exacerbating the headache, and partly to give herself a chance to assess the situation, before whoever else is in the car with her realizes she’s awake. She listens carefully for a minute, wishing she could wipe off the blood that she feels trickling down her face and coating her eyelashes, but knowing she can’t.

“Why’d you do that, man?” a voice asks, and she thinks it sounds like the soldier who had taken the keys from her, Johnson, probably sitting in the driver’s seat.

It takes everything in her not to shudder at the next voice she hears, directly to her left. “Hey, I’m just keeping the girl safe,” Jones says teasingly. Alicia can’t tell if her sudden urge to vomit is the result of a concussion or of the tone in the soldier’s voice. “Protect and serve, right? You know those kids probably would’ve just died down there. They didn’t even have any weapons.”

And Alicia has never been more regretful of that fact. Not that she thinks she and Chris would have been able to do much against three trained soldiers.

The way that they’re talking about her, about having just kidnapped her, makes her think she hasn’t been out for long. She can tell that the SUV is moving from the way she bumps around in her seat, but without opening her eyes, there’s no way to be sure how far they’ve gotten from the compound at this point. How far she’s gotten from her family.

She also isn’t sure how long she can pretend to be unconscious before one of them notices. She urges herself to come up with a plan.

After a silent few minutes, in which Alicia seriously considers leaping from a moving vehicle, Johnson curses quietly. “Damn.”

“What?” It’s the third soldier, the one who had punched Chris, sitting in the passenger seat in front of Alicia.

“This thing needs gas, that’s what. We should’ve siphoned some while we were in the garage.”

“We’ll stop at a gas station,” Jones decides.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. We can loot some extra food, too, if there is any. Get off here.”

She almost can’t believe her luck. Alicia feels the car turn and slow as they presumably leave the freeway, and she knows this might be her only chance to make a break for it. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if she does escape, or how far she’ll have to walk to get back to her family, assuming they’re even at the compound still, but she does know that staying in this car with these men is the worst possible option, short of getting attacked by a horde of infected.

Or maybe not, she thinks, feeling thick fingers run through the hair of her ponytail, and calls on every ounce of self-control to keep from reacting to it. She’ll take her chances with the infected.

When the SUV finally pulls to a stop, and the hand withdraws from her hair, Alicia wants to cry out in relief.

“There’re a few of ‘em walking around out there,” Johnson remarks, turning off the engine. “Maybe more inside.”

“Just shoot them and fill it up quick,” Jones says. “Ten minutes. We’ll take a look around.”

Three doors open and shut, leaving her alone inside the car. Alicia takes a deep breath, steadying herself, and silently counts to five before opening her eyes. The blood streaming into them is still flowing, still wet enough that lifting her eyelids is barely a struggle, though forcing them to stay open despite the blinding light of sunrise shining through is a bit harder.

She doesn’t see anyone outside her own window, only a street littered with a few abandoned cars and a handful of corpses, none of them moving. To her left, out the other window, she can see Johnson slamming an infected person over the head with his rifle. The infected stumbles back a foot or two from the blow, and Johnson pulls a pistol from the holster at his waist and shoots it once in the head, the gunshot echoing loudly in the atypical silence of the early morning. It reminds her of Susan, and Alicia closes her eyes for a half a second to try to clear that image from her mind.

More movement out the opposite window catches her attention when she opens her eyes again. Across the lot, she spots Jones and the soldier whose name she name patch she never saw fighting their way through a few more infected. The noise of the gunshots as they shoot them down makes her wince, and it only seems to spur the infected on, as more emerge from around the sides of the convenience store. The men’s stupidity could very well be their downfall, she thinks.

Her gaze shifts again, and she notes that Johnson has moved on to filling up the gas tank now, looking like he’s struggling to figure out how to make that happen without electricity to power the pumps.

Alicia decides to use this distraction to her advantage, and slowly lifts her head from the car window, careful not to attract attention with sudden movements. She gently pulls the handle on her door and pushes it open, glancing back over her shoulder every few seconds to check that she hasn’t alerted the soldiers to her escape.

She gets the door open wide enough for her slip out, and then edges around the SUV. When she peers back through the windows one last time, Alicia has to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out at what she sees.

Johnson, still fiddling with the tubing from the gas pump, doesn’t notice an infected circle around behind him until it’s too late. The agonized screams as blunt teeth sink into the tender flesh of his neck blend with the infected’s hissing groans and the sudden sound of shattering glass inside the convenience store. Three infected spill out of the store’s front doors, mouths dripping with fresh blood, and merge into a larger group that had shuffled over from the auto body shop next door, attracted by all the noise.

Alicia doesn’t stick around long enough to find out exactly _whose_ fresh blood it had been, ignoring the quiet voice in the back of her head that hopes it was Jones’.

She stumbles back, eyes wide, heart pounding, and spins around. The abrupt motion throws her off balance, causing her to trip and fall to the pavement, palms scraping painfully against stray glass shards and rocks. Ignoring the pain, Alicia pushes herself back to her feet, and just manages to pull away from the reach of an infected’s clawed hand as she releases a sound somewhere between a scream and a gasp.

She takes off running, out of the gas station parking lot and down the adjacent street, not looking back. Her arms pump at her sides, fists clenched and fingernails digging into the cuts on her palms, her breaths coming out short and fast as she races toward some unknown destination. She dodges around the dead, walking and fallen alike, and she doesn’t stop, desperate to escape and desperate for a sign.

What does she do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really happy with this chapter or its short length but I thought I'd just post it anyway since I have a lot of work to do and no time to make this as good as I want it to be. Anyway, hope you enjoy, and thank you for the kudos and comments on the first chapter!

Her legs are burning, her lungs screaming for oxygen, but Alicia is too afraid to slow down. Afraid that Jones had survived and will come after her, afraid that the dead will make her their next meal. So she keeps running.

She’s at least two miles away from the gas station by the time she starts to think about where she is and where she’s going, realizing the answer to both is she has no idea.

When she finally decides she can’t run any longer, Alicia pulls to a hard stop and drops to her hands and knees in the middle of the street, instantly regretting it when the fresh cuts on her palms sting in protest. She remains in that position just long enough for her desperate gasps for air to turn into mere heaving breaths before returning unsteadily to her feet.

She doesn’t see any infected nearby, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there, and she doesn’t want to hang around in the street waiting for them.

Looking around, Alicia sees she has ended up in a residential area, unfamiliar to her, but not unlike her own neighborhood. Or what used to be her neighborhood, anyway. Except the houses that line the street on either side of her are all seemingly abandoned. There are no cars in the driveways, not even bodies in the streets. It’s eerily quiet. Alicia wonders what happened here that made it different from her neighborhood, or the corpse-ridden ones they had passed on their way to the compound. Had they been impossible to save, all dead in their homes before the military could intervene? Or had everyone made it out before the army had taken over?

A faint shuffling sound catches her attention, and she looks up to see a lone infected stumbling down the street, heading in her direction, but far enough away that she can probably make it inside one of the houses before it notices her.

She decides the closest house is her best option, a yellow-painted rambler with a front garden full of trampled flowers. When Alicia tries the knob on the front door, it turns easily, to her surprise and relief. Picking locks is not among the many things she is good at.

She pushes her way into the house, closing and locking the door behind her. For a moment she only stands in the entryway, listening for any sign that she’s not alone, but the house is just as quiet as the street outside, and it looks like the owners had left. For good, if the empty walls and drawers and shelves she can see are any indication.

She spends some time wandering around the house, running her fingers along dusty furniture, peeking into the empty bedrooms littered with abandoned garments, seeing more blank spaces where picture frames used to hang. Alicia is reminded of the house in her neighborhood where she’d brought Chris, of breaking in and dressing up in the fancy clothing and the catharsis of smashing anything they could get their hands on.

But here, in this house, she doesn’t feel the same urge. Maybe it’s the lack of expensive furnishings, or the fact that she had just been kidnapped and running for her life, but she almost feels uncomfortable now intruding on someone’s space.

Slowly, Alicia walks back into the living room and takes a seat on the beat up leather couch, pushing a sigh through her lips as she leans back into the cushions with her hands tucked between her knees.

She knows she can’t stay here indefinitely. There is some food left in the kitchen and she could probably loot some of the other houses on the street if it came down to that, but hiding in this house won’t get her any closer to reuniting with her family.

She has to find her way back to the gas station, she decides. Maybe try to get the SUV back if it’s still there, if it isn’t swarmed by infected. It’s the only way she might make it back to them.

* * *

“Where are we going?” Nick asks. “We have no idea where they’ve taken her.”

Madison purses her lips, pulling the car onto the road and out of the compound. Strand speaks up before she can admit that the guess and hope method is her only idea right now.

“They were soldiers, right? So these people had the knowledge of where to go and where not to go, at least within a mile or two’s radius surrounding the compound. I say we head towards the freeway. Go east, like you wanted. I imagine that’s the plan most people would have when trying to escape the city.”

Madison frowns, but doesn’t disagree, and starts leading their two-car caravan in the direction of the eastbound freeway. “And what was your plan?” she wonders. “Take us back to your house on the beach and just stay there?” She glances back at Strand in the rear view mirror and can see Nick looking at him too, expectant.

Strand sighs. “I have a boat,” he tells them. “Far as I know, infected can’t swim.”

“You can’t be sure about that,” Madison argues, though silently she has to admit it’s a decent plan.

“They can barely walk,” replies Strand. “Just seems unlikely.”

Madison stays silent. They’ve made it onto the freeway now, Travis and the others right behind them in his truck, and they all turn their heads to look out the windows, eyes peeled for the stolen SUV. No one mentions the fact that it could be miles away at this point.

“You didn’t have to come with us,” Madison says after a few minutes, addressing Strand. “Why did you?”

Strand shrugs and clasps his hands in his lap. “I needed transportation. You had it.”

“You could have taken one of the other cars in the garage,” Nick points out.

“With what keys?”

Nick throws his hand up. “Hot wiring?”

Strand chuckles. “Only seen it done in movies.”

Madison presses her foot to the gas pedal as they talk, racing faster down the empty freeway, hoping they might catch up with the SUV out of sheer luck. “This is useless,” she growls into the sudden silence. “We’ll never find her this way. They could have gotten off on any of these exits, for all we know.” She tries to ignore the voice in the back of her head. The one that reminds her how little attention she’d been paying to Alicia lately, in her attempts to take care of Nick. And now she’s afraid she might never get the chance to rectify that.

She doesn’t give Nick or Strand time to deliver any attempted reassurances. She slams on the brakes and turns toward the side of the freeway as she pulls to a stop, watching Travis swerve a little in surprise and then do the same in her rearview mirror.

As soon as the car is in park, Madison jumps out, coming around to meet Travis in the road between the two cars. He approaches her with his hands tossed up in question, face scrunched with confusion.

“What’s going on?”

Madison combs her hair back with her fingers. “This isn’t working. We need a plan. If we split up, we can cover more ground.”

“Okay…” Travis drops his hands to his sides. “We can do that. But how will we contact each other?”

Madison can see the rest of their group watching them curiously from the cars as she answers. “We’ll meet back here, at this exit. Before nightfall,” she decides, and points to the exit sign fifty yards away.

“Sure,” Travis nods. “How do you want to do this?”

Madison groans, pressing her hands to her face, and says, “I don’t know. My car is faster, I guess, so I’ll take the freeway, keep driving, see if we can catch up to them maybe.” She pulls her hands away and reaches out to grab his. “Are you okay with checking the side roads around the exits?”

“Of course. Liza says Ofelia is doing well, that first aid kit from the car had enough supplies. We should be fine.” Travis squeezes her hands and then pulls her in for a hug.

“I can’t lose her, Travis,” Madison whispers into his shoulder.

“We’ll find her, Maddie. We will.”

* * *

After cleaning up the cuts on her hands and doing the same for the still-healing skin of her self-done tattoo, Alicia decides it’s time to leave. With some determined searching, she finds an old, dusty backpack shoved at the back of a shelf in the garage and stuffs it with some Club crackers and canned tuna she’d found in the mostly barren kitchen. She fills a dented canteen she had also found in the garage with water that is thankfully still running and sticks that in the bag, as well.

As she passes through the living room again, she spots the rack beside the fireplace that holds a fire poker and a tiny broom. She’s reminded of the soldiers and their too-loud guns that only drew more infected towards them no matter how many they killed, and it only takes her a few seconds of deliberation to divert her path to the door to grab the iron poker. She tests the weight in her hand, ignoring the uncomfortable press of it against her cuts, and then moves back towards the front entryway, satisfied with her new weapon.

She peers out the front windows and the peephole first, checking for soldiers or infected before she opens the door. There are none of the former, but the sigh of relief that might have evoked is overshadowed by the sight of five of the latter now shuffling around outside the house.

Alicia wonders if she brought them here by making too much noise, or if they are merely passing through their search for… something. Either way, she has to get past all of them to make it out of the neighborhood.

She tries not to think of the way Susan – no, not Susan, not anymore – had grabbed her leg as she hopped the fence, or Johnson’s screams and the spray of blood as the infected had bit into his neck. She doesn’t quite manage it, the images still all too fresh in her mind, but she resolves herself enough to unlock the door and pull it open.

The dead don’t seem to notice her, if she moves slowly enough down the front steps. They shuffle around mindlessly, with wheezing groans and milky eyes that send chills down her spine.

She makes it all the way across the front path and to the street’s edge before her movement catches the attention of one of the infected, a small elderly woman still in her bathrobe. Alicia’s fast enough that she can dart around her reaching arms without needing to use the poker, but the quick motion alerts the other four infected to her presence.

They all turn towards her, clouded eyes oddly focused, and Alicia picks up her pace, clutching the poker tighter in her hand. She doesn’t want to run, with the weight of the backpack on her shoulders, and she doesn’t really have to. They’re slow enough that she can outpace them, but she knows they will continue to follow her if she doesn’t do anything about it. She’s afraid that their… interest, or whatever these things feel, will only serve as a signal to draw in others.

Alicia glances at the household-tool-turned-weapon in her hands and back over her shoulder. There are still only five of them, mostly spread apart from each other as they stumble along behind her. She wonders if stopping and trying to kill them would only end up getting her killed instead.

Images flash in her mind, Mrs. Cruz and Johnson and their screams, Matt drenched in sweat, Mr. Dawson and Susan, footage of chaos and headshots that seemed the only solution.

Alicia knows. She can let them follow her or she can stop them. Both options are dangerous, but in this new world, and what it’s becoming, it seems to be one of the only choices people have left.

Kill, or be killed.


End file.
